


Patience and Its Virtues

by dreadwulf



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: First Time, M/M, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-08
Updated: 2013-09-08
Packaged: 2017-12-26 01:06:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/959778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreadwulf/pseuds/dreadwulf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sebastian and Fenris are taking things slowly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Patience and Its Virtues

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MsBarrows](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MsBarrows/gifts).



It is extremely fortunate that Sebastian is so familiar with self-control.

It feels exactly as though his long years of self-denial were preparing him for this moment: sitting in an armchair with the object of his affections climbing into his lap, and somehow  _not touching him._

He has promised himself this, that he will keep his hands to himself. They need to go slow. The Tevinter elf is nowhere near ready to do all the very many things he wants to do with him, no matter what he says to the contrary. Fenris still stiffens sometimes when his hands wander, even somewhere that seems safe. When they kissed for the second time (not the first time, which had been sudden and brief, but the deeper, wilder tryst later on) his hands had buried themselves in that soft white hair and there had been a sudden intake of breath and a look in his eyes that told Sebastian immediately that the hair was off limits. The magisters had petted his hair, as one would stroke a loyal dog. He had not said the words, but the air between them became chilly and the elf’s lyrium brands had shimmered warningly and Sebastian knew the truth in a moment.

At such times he will back away, reassure Fenris that he still  _very much wants_ _to continue_  but wants even more to make sure the elf is comfortable with what they are doing.

Fenris will only shrug with feigned casualness and insist that he is fine. But he will make no move to continue and the intimate moment is spoiled for the evening. It has happened more than once. 

Not long after meeting Fenris, Sebastian had done a great deal of research about Tevinter. He has heard greatly distressing things about what magisters do with their male slaves, things he has never been able to put entirely out of his mind. Fenris has not mentioned anything of the sort, but Sebastian does not suppose he would. At the very least, Fenris is an inexperienced and uncertain lover; more likely, sex has been for him a thing that  happened without notice or warning, something done to him and not by him, and not by choice. Either way, he does not want to push him.

Letting Fenris take the lead has worked well for them so far. Their trysts have been relatively chaste, but sweet, tender. They have done little more than kiss, and yet it has been enough to make the chantry brother’s head whirl with pleasure. It has, after all, been a very long time since he has done anything of the sort, and it is surprisingly pleasant to focus so on simple little touches. Getting to know each other. A hand creeping into his as they walked together, the warmth of that touch flooding his whole body with excitement. An embrace, unexpectedly, before making the walk back to his cell that sent his heart thudding joyously, left him with the feeling of floating several inches above the ground all the way home.

He has not been so head-swimmingly besotted with anyone since he was a teenager. It makes him feel young again, reckless, in love with the entire world, which seems to him suddenly bursting with beauty and possibility.

The wait, though, has been punishing. He is familiar with patience and restraint and all the same there are times he feels as though he could go mad from desire. From wanting him. Needing him. From not climbing on top of Fenris and covering his mouth with his, not tearing the clothes from his back. In all the time he has known him, Fenris has not removed a single piece of clothing - not one piece! - and his imagination demands more.

He spends hours in the elf’s company, drunk with his presence, with loving him, and then he returns to his cell at the Chantry and he tosses and turns all through the night, fevered with longing. His will is stronger than the demands of his body, but it does not diminish his frustration.

On this evening, Sebastian has followed Fenris back to his manor after a long mission with Hawke. Collapsing into a chair, he feels the weight and heat of the metal encasing his sweaty form and so spontaneously unhooks the plates of his armor and peels it off. He leans back in his chain-mail undershirt, breathing a sigh of relief, and suddenly there is Fenris, suddenly very close and very interested in this removal of clothing.

The elf perches on his lap with a surprising amount of grace and dignity and looks him up and down. “Surely you are not stopping there,” he says. He is smirking.

Sometimes Sebastian thinks that Fenris has no idea of the effect he has on him. Other times he is  _absolutely certain_  that he knows absolutely everything. 

“Shouldn’t I?” he answers, resting his cheek on his fist and studying the elf’s expression.

Fenris leans closer, darts in for a brief, teasing kiss. “I would like for you to be… comfortable,” he murmurs, brushing his lips against the human’s strong jaw. His hands rest against the archer’s chest lightly, fingering the chain, feeling for the contours underneath.

The weight in his lap is pleasant and maddening all at once. A familiar quiver in his groin makes him shift uncomfortably, hoping his eagerness will not be too obvious. “If that would be all right for you…”

Fenris harrumphed, his lips questing down Sebastian’s neckline, hands pressing more strongly. He seems at times frustrated with the human’s consideration, as though it only reminds him of his own shortcomings.

“Perhaps if I joined you,” he offered, and leaned back. He kneels now, straddling the larger man’s thighs and unhooks his own chestplate, pulling it around his back and letting it fall to the floor next to his gauntlets. His tunic he leaves in place as he settles down again onto Sebastian’s strong legs, bringing his hands back up to resume their explorations.

It clearly fascinates Fenris, this ability to touch. He had not been permitted it before, to be able to run his hands over another body. To do it for the pleasure of it, not tearing and goring but stroking, feeling. He feels the human’s broad shoulders, the gently sloping plain from the neck to his strong arms. The corded muscle there especially. He runs his fingers back and forth along them.

“Your shoulders….” he says.

“Hmmm?” Sebastian murmurs. The gentle questing of the elf’s careful hands is lulling him into a sort of trance.

“They are… absurd,” he pronounces admiringly, drawing a laugh from the archer. Then he is pulling up insistently at the chain mail. “Off,” he orders, his expression hungry.

Sebastian rushes to comply. He pulls the shirt over his head, leaving him bare.

Fenris looks pleased. A smile tugs at his lips as he contemplates the archer’s broad chest, the expanse of ruddy skin. He touches the spray of hair along his sternum, following it across the muscles of his torso.

It is an effort not to reach up and crush the elf to his chest. Sebastian clutches the chair beneath him instead, and forces his hips to remain still, despite his growing erection and the inadvertent friction of Fenris’s shifting weight against it.

The elf’s mouth descends, kissing and nipping along his collarbone, hands rubbing and squeezing along the hard muscles of his bare arms. Sebastian’s eyes drift shut, unable to watch that white head descending his chest in fear of what it could do to his self-control. His grip on the chair tightens as Fenris finds his nipples and moves his lips around them, suckling. The wood of the chair creaks in protest.

Fenris laughs to himself at these reactions, quietly. He thrills to the way Sebastian’s stomach muscles contract all at once as his fingers drift across them, flinching slightly, a tremor of pleasure in the pleasingly solid hardness of his belly. The rippling abdominal muscles fascinate him, they way they accompany the human’s quickened breaths, his soft sighs. He likes the smell of him when he presses his nose to the thatch of hair on his chest, the taste of the sweat on his skin. It is an embarassment of riches, this.

He comes up for a hard, passionate kiss. For a moment, Sebastian embraces him, clawing at his back helplessly as their tongues meet. Fenris growls when the archers hands surround his bottom and squeeze, pulling him even closer, so that no space can remain between them. Sebastian feels the warrior’s full weight pressing all against him, loose and fluid in his grasp, not stiff and reserved, and his heart races.

The kiss continues for some time this way, until Sebastian releases him, not pushing him away but not trapping him in his embrace, allowing the elf to pull back and contemplate his serious blue gaze.

“Come with me,” Fenris says.

Sebastian follows him apprehensively down a dark hallway, wondering to himself.  _Is he ready for this? Have I pushed him too far?_  Still, he comes. He cannot deny Fenris, nor his own curiousity at what the elf has to show him.

Fenris leads him into a grand bedroom that Sebastian has never seen, a suspiciously clean one. There is a four-poster bed whose sheets have been recently changed, covered with a thick, spotless velvet coverlet. The curtains are drawn and free of dust, and the floor is clear of debris. There are flowers in the vases on the wall.

Avoiding his gaze, Fenris strides casually into the room and settles on the bed. He seems embarrassed by his efforts, which are too elaborate to be coincidence. “I wished to make it suitable for you,” he admits reluctantly to the floor.

Sebastian grins, imagining him scrubbing at the grime he had ignored in the rest of the house, beating the dust out of fabric. Best of all: picking flowers. Of all things. “It’s wonderful,” he says sincerely, as happy as he has ever been. “You did this for me?”

The elf’s shy smile is too big for his narrow face, it looks awkward and unpracticed, which makes it even more beautiful. Sebastian’s heart throbs with affection for that smile.

He crosses the room in a few quick strides and engulfs it with his mouth, climbing onto the bed and cradling his face in his hands. They hover here together, leaning to and fro with the effort of their deep, forceful kiss.

Sebastian ends up flat on his back at last, his bare skin pressed to the velvet coverlet. Fenris crouching over him, showing his teeth. He is fumbling at the remainder of his clothing, looking determined. Sebastian lifts his hips to facilitate the removal of his trousers, and, to his surprise, his smallclothes. His erection springs free and weeps against his stomach and his mind spins.  _This is fast, this is too fast,_ he thinks frantically but he is completely unable to protest when Fenris wraps his hands around him and begins to stroke.

His eyes flutter closed. It has been  _so long_. He has barely even touched himself since he went to the Chantry. The sensation is completely overwhelming and every thought in his head sputters to a stop. There is only Fenris, bending over him, completely clothed above his naked and vulnerable form. His hands are clumsy, his technique is inexpert and too fast, with too much friction, almost painful, but it hardly matters. Sebastian is already close to the edge. A moan slips past his resistance, and he hears an answering sound from below his waist.

He opens his eyes and sees Fenris bring his open lips to his aching erection, kissing the head of his cock almost reverently.

Sebastian gasps at the soft touch, moreso at the sight of it, at those green eyes smouldering up at him as his tongue flicks out to caress him. 

“You don’t…” (Sebastian forces it out between rough intakes of breath) “you don’t have to… ohhh ffffffuck”

The oath stretches into a long moan and his head rolls back as Fenris takes him into his mouth, his hot wet mouth… Maker, he would not last long, he was nearly coming already. His body undulated mindlessly under the elf’s touch, the strong swipes of tongue against the sensitive head of his penis, lips hugging firmly around the shaft, the hands clenching his arse cheeks. Sebastian’s hands scramble at the bedsheets, clutching and pulling. He is babbling now, a breathy stream of  _please_  and _Fenris_  over and over again.

Then his cock slips out and slaps wetly against his skin, abandoned for the moment into a cold shock of air, and Sebastian gasps. Fenris looks up at him and smirks. “You have been very patient with me. I wanted to… reward you.”

“I don’t need a reward,” Sebastian said, or tried to say, or possibly just formed the words in his mind and groaned senselessly. His limbs squirmed and writhed beneath the elven warrior, craving friction. He would not have told him but felt in every fiber of his being that if Fenris did not touch him right now he would actually die of it. He would fall to pieces, shatter.  _Oh Maker, please touch me, please, anywhere, now, now…_

Fenris takes him again into his mouth and Sebastian wails, begins to come almost immediately. His hips hitched up and off the bed, every muscle contracting wildly as he spills into that waiting mouth. It goes on and on and his muscles will ache from their convulsive efforts but his pleasure is endless and perfect and he cannot help crying out  _I love you I love you I love_  as the stars burst behind his eyelids.

The aftermath is blissful and a little sheepish. “I’m sorry,” he tries to say, as Fenris wipes his mouth discreetly and climbs up to face him. Sebastian blushes. He used to have a lot more endurance than this. “It’s just, it’s been awhile since—”

“Hush.” Fenris is settling in beside him on the bed, looking rather pleased with himself. An easy smile is making a place for itself on his face and looking more and more at home there. “I wanted you to,” he insists quietly, and kisses his bare shoulder.

Sebastian watches him seriously. “But what can I do for you?”

The elf curls his arm over him, their legs tangling in the sheets. “I should like to lie here with you tonight. If that is all right. If you will stay.”

“Of course I will.” Sebastian puts his arms around his love and looks into his eyes. For once Fenris does not look away, and gazes back searchingly. There is a question there that the archer feels compelled to answer. He brushes a shock of white hair back from his face so that he can see him more clearly. “I meant it, what I said. I love you.”

He sees those green eyes widen, ever so slightly. With alarm, or perhaps a swell of answering feeling? It is difficult to read, and as always Fenris is not about to say which. Sebastian moves his hand away from his soft hair then, mindful of his earlier mistake, but this time Fenris catches his wrist.

“It’s all right,” he whispers, moving it back. “When it’s you… it feels good.”

Fenris lays his cheek against Sebastian’s broad chest, where the sweat is cooling from his skin, and his hand sits on the still-hot skin of his stomach. Sebastian’s fingers make gentle circles against the elf’s scalp. He strokes his hair long into the night, until the warrior’s breathing is deep and even and his own euphoria has lessened enough to follow his love into sleep.


End file.
